


Terrible Love

by dreadwulf



Series: unnamed Jaime/Brienne series [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Brienne and Jaime are bad at feelings: part one million, F/M, book canon, mostly book canon but with some TV elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-10 21:50:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11700570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreadwulf/pseuds/dreadwulf
Summary: Brienne seeks out Jaime in the Lannister encampment to conclude her quest and return his sword. This time, her doesn't want to let her go. But is Brienne ready to stay?





	1. The camp

**Author's Note:**

> This story is an unexpected sequel to my Jaime POV, [I Should Live in Salt](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8153978/chapters/18686939)
> 
> It's not a requirement to read it for this story, though. 
> 
> A brief summary: Jaime and Brienne faced their trial with Lady Stoneheart, and afterwards Brienne succumbed to her injuries and was brought to the Quiet Isle to recover. Unfortunately, Jaime was not permitted to join her there, due to the Lannisters' role in the war that tears Westeros apart. Shaken by the experience and in fear for her life, Jaime realized too late that he loves Brienne, and was not able to tell her before they were forced to part.
> 
> I wasn't intending to follow it up, but I got the idea of integrating the Red Tent scene from S6 of Game of Thrones into my book continuity, at a very different point in Brienne and Jaime's character arcs. If you know the show only, you should still be able to follow this, as I'm kind of welding the two continuities together here.
> 
> Big thanks to Mikki for her beta read and encouragement after a long dry spell.
> 
>  _It's a terrible love, and I walk in its quiet company_  
>  -The National, "Terrible Love"

At the crest of the last hill, Brienne slowed her palfrey to a stop and took a long breath.

Below her unfurled the entire Lannister army, rows and rows of red tents filling the valley from end to end. The camp swam with noisy activity and she briefly gave thanks that she had arrived before their next march. If they had already struck camp she might not have caught them; she had only days to return to her young squire where she had left him, safe at an inn in Pennytree, while she swept the Riverlands in search of the Lannister camp. Already she had ridden the length of it following their trail and her time was growing short. Though she would need little time for _this_ task, additional complications would be unwelcome.

It would be complicated enough, as it was.

Slowly she swung over the saddle and dismounted, deciding to lead her mare by the bridle down the embankment, towards the camp. It would not do to rush and create an alarm amongst the scouts, as much as she wanted to gallop straight in. Instead she moved deliberately and calmly and tried very hard to give more concern to the aches of many days’ riding than to the task ahead.

This was an errand, nothing more. She would pay her courtesy to Lord Lannister and be on her way, and, she told herself quite firmly, expect little in the way of pleasantry. After all, the last words she and he had spoken were harsh ones, and she doubted there would be any reason for him to welcome her warmly. For all he knew she was still a failure, slinking back to his side to ask for some favor. She doubted he would have any way to know that she had succeeded after all, that with Sandor Clegane she had set forth from the Quiet Isle and located Sansa Stark in the Vale just in time to help Sansa extricate herself from the machinations of Petyr Baelish. They had arrived outside Winterfell to see Stannis Baratheon in desperate conflict with the Bolton forces. The Northerners had decimated one another until only ruins of their armies remained, and the Vale Knights made the decisive claim to the castle with Sansa pulling together the remaining Stark bannermen in her name.

Winterfell had been won by the efforts of many, and her own role had been hardly decisive, but Brienne had laid her own claim on the battlefield. In single combat, she had put an end to Stannis Baratheon.

At the thought of it Brienne drew herself up a little straighter and raised her chin against the questioning looks of the camp guards. A poor joke she may be to these men, as she had always been, but at last she knew herself a true knight. She had completed her quest, avenged King Renly, and now wore the Stark colors as a sworn sword. At last she had proven herself worthy, and could hold her head high.

Then why did her stomach quiver with nerves at the thought of facing Jaime Lannister again?

Three young guards posted at the stables roused themselves well in advance of her approach. When they stopped her at the foot of the hill, she told them as boldly as she could that she would see their Lord Commander, whose blade she carried. At this she withdrew the sword a little way from its scabbard, enough for the lads to take its measure. When they saw the lion on the pommel, her claim could not be denied, and the three guards exchanged an expression of widened eyes and raised eyebrows. Without ceremony, she was led into the camp, with soldiers eying her warily and staring openly at the valyrian blade strapped to her side.

Her horse stabled and fed, she left her pack and shield behind and followed her escorts with as much pride as she could muster in the face of a great many questioning glances. Even here, a lady in armor was a strange sight, but she had long grown immune to such stares. It tired more than troubled her now.

She caught sight of their Lord Commander only briefly as they made their way through the camp. Even at a distance, in a crowd of men, he was instantly recognizable. His golden hair stood out like a flag in the muddy barracks, even more so than his golden armor. One of the guards had run ahead to inform him of her arrival and he had to speak over at least four other soldiers clamoring for his attention. He must have said the right thing, because their Commander quickly lost all interest in the conversation and searched out where her two escorts lead her through the camp.

To her surprise, he turned his entire body in the direction pointed and searched through the distance until their eyes met. His eyes should have been too far away to tell if they met her gaze, or even whether they were open or shut, but she knew it just the same. She could feel the contact as a physical sensation, a touch at a distance.

Her breath caught in her chest. She had the sudden, strange idea that she ought to have brushed her hair before she came into the camp. It was not the sort of thing she thought of doing, in general. She didn’t even own a brush. There was no point, really, when she would be muddy and bruised and battered and vanity would be a poor trick to play on herself with a face like hers. Still, the thought came to her that she might at least have brushed her hair.

Then he turned away, and she kept walking and could not see him anymore.

She was lead into the Lord Commander’s tent with a soldier at each shoulder, new soldiers, blonds. More Lannisters? Or simply bannermen? There never seemed to be any shortage of Lannister blonds, even if they were only lowly ones. The Great Houses were ruthless that way, if they lost their heirs there were always spares. _Not like Tarth_ , she thought, and quickly banished the memory. 

The guards did not say how long she might wait or invite her to sit, so she stood awkwardly at attention and took in her surroundings. Everything was Lannister crimson, a deep, bloody red. It was by far the fanciest tent she had ever seen, nicer than many cottages. Even King Renly’s tents had not been so fine, and he had a keen taste for the ostentatious. But like most things Lannister it was impressive not in decoration or excess but in quality; every surface from the floors to the footstools were the highest caliber and well-matched to each other, and nothing was out of place.

Except her, of course.

At this thought Brienne willed herself to stand straighter, telling herself, _you are a knight. You are a true knight._ It would not do for her to slump and slouch when Lord Lannister came in. All her old timidity she had banished long ago, and a knight did not cower no matter how out of place he may feel.

Almost in response the fingers of her left hand played soothingly over the golden hilt of her magic sword, Oathkeeper. She had only recently acquired the habit of grasping for it at regular intervals, as if to remind herself it was there. Sometimes, when particularly anxious, she would curl her fingers around it, more as if to clutch it to her chest than to draw it out. She held it now, and thought about what she had come to do here today, and was suddenly solemn.

When the Lord Commander arrived he was surrounded in a thick cluster of officers, all in Lannister gold and red, who abruptly passed her by. The other men were two or three decades older than her, and none of them acknowledged her in any way. Had she stood directly in their path she would still be well beneath their notice, she sensed. She was reminded of Lord Tarly, and all the others of his ilk, and she set her jaw unhappily. 

Lord Lannister did not look at her then. He looked at the parchment in his hands and at the men in his command and gave orders in a measured tone punctuated with authority, and seemed only dimly to realize that she was there.  

Brienne shifted uneasily from one foot to the other, at a mild remove, waiting to be addressed. She found herself reluctant to speak up, taking the time to steady herself to the fact of Jaime Lannister in his element, a commander and leader of men. She had seen him as a prisoner, as a knight, and as a warrior, but never before as a Lord. Most often they had been alone together on the road or as captives, not in the company of others. Even at Kings Landing he had seen her only by herself, presumably because he would not wish to be seen with her. The Brotherhood without Banners and the Brave Companions did not count, she knew. But here was a side of the man she had not seen before, more serious and more substantial.

He sat down behind the great desk and smoothed down his hair with his hand, making some comment that made the men around him chuckle. His beard had grown in again and his hair was longer, making him a good deal scruffier than he had been when she saw him last, though not quite the mangy lion she had first met. He wore it well.  She tried not to stare. It had been sixteen long months since she saw him. Though she had been stern with her remembrances of his handsome face, she found every detail as sharply familiar as though she had seen him only yesterday. Only the ache in her chest told her how terribly long it had been.

As ever, she had to marvel at the ease with which he moved through the world, an ease she had never known for a single moment. It wasn’t merely confidence – though he certainly had that – it was a kind of skill. An ability to say and do precisely what was needed at any moment. He simply fit, wherever he was, whoever he was with. What must it be like, she wondered, to blend so easily into your surroundings? Not to have to measure every word and consider every move, but simply to belong? She could not imagine it.

Finally, and loudly enough for her to hear, The Lord Commander dismissed them all to their respective orders and waved the guards outside the tent. Somehow she knew she was not included in their number, and simply stood silently, waiting.

When they had all gone, Jaime looked up at her. A long, sustained look with not a flicker of distraction that told her he had only been waiting for them to be alone together. Now there would be nothing that could possibly divert his attention. He sat back and considered her, looked her up and down in a way that made her feel almost naked despite her armor.

Her heart quickened, and the blood pounded in her ears.

“Well,” he said with a slow smile, “Brienne of Tarth. You look a great deal livelier than when last I saw you.”

“I don’t recall,” she stammered slightly. She could kick herself, already stumbling over her words.

“I don’t suppose you would.” He laid aside his messages on the table with profound disinterest, his eyes locked onto her. “You were quite ill. I trust you have recovered by now.”

She kept her tone formal, in contrast to his sudden casualness. “As much as I’m likely to, Ser. I am well.”

“I’m glad.” He did seem unaccountably pleased with her, just as he should have been cross. Instead he raised his eyebrows teasingly. “I had no news of you after we parted, I thought you had forgotten me. Only months later did I even receive the message that you had survived…”

The way he trailed off was a question that she did not know how to answer. Brienne could not quite read his expression; she had never been very good at that sort of thing. She knew he might still be angry with her for what she had done to him, but would he have seen her at all if he were? She took a deep breath. “I am sorry that I did not contact you sooner – I’m sorry for a lot of things, Ser Jaime.”

He cut her off. “Don’t start up the apologizing again. It’s all well behind us now. It’s funny,” he added with a crooked smile, “I was thinking of you only yesterday, and I have just heard that the Starks are back at Winterfell. I thought you must be most pleased to hear it.”

“I am pleased. I mean, I am well aware,” Brienne said with great satisfaction. “I found them.”

“You found…” She watched him realize, his eyes widening as he straightened up in his seat. “My news was not so specific as that. The Stark in Winterfell _is_ Sansa, then? You restored her to her home?”

“Sansa and Arya both, I brought to Winterfell. Where they will soon be joined by their half-brother Jon Snow.” She was sure she looked foolish just then, so prideful and pleased she could not contain herself. But she could not stop herself smiling. “In your name, of course. All of Winterfell knows you sent me to their aid.”

Jaime gestured to the letter on his desk. “And that explains this missive. I wondered why they would extend a hand to me in their time of need. Here I thought it was my diplomatic prowess,” he said with a wry smile. “How? How did you find them?”

She dropped her gaze a little bashfully. “It is a long tale, Ser, and mainly not of interest. I had help from a few unexpected quarters. In the end we rode with the Knights of the Vale to join the Siege of Winterfell. Unfortunately there was some unpleasantry in the Vale, and Lord Baelish is no more. I understand he has served your family in the past, but it could not be avoided. I hope it will not inconvenience you.”

Jaime’s smile grew. “Not in the least. I imagine Littlefinger made himself a nuisance. I doubt anyone would miss him, I certainly won’t.”

That was a sad end for even so wicked a man, that no one alive would mourn him, Brienne thought and frowned.

He pressed on with great interest, leaning forwards. “But why are you not at your lady’s side in Winterfell then? Surely she would have taken you into her service?”

“I am sworn, yes. But not to Lady Sansa. I left Sandor Clegane – yes, the Hound, who accompanied me from the Isle to the Vale”, she added at his raised eyebrows, “at Winterfell, to guard the Stark girls. But I will serve in the Stark’s command once I have discharged my duty to you, Ser.”

“The Hound, guarding Sansa and Arya Stark…” Jaime shook his head wonderingly and chuckled to himself. “How did you pull that off, I wonder? No, don’t spoil it, let me guess. You’ve converted him with your purest virtue. Tamed the Hound, made my father’s beast an honorable knight. Of course where the white cloak fails, you would succeed.”

 “Something like that,” she defended, squaring her shoulders. She had forgotten how quickly he could irk her with his remarks. “Laugh if you will. Anyway it was not my doing, Ser. The Quiet Isle sheltered him first, and he followed me of his own will.”

“You do tend to acquire followers. I suppose stray dogs are to be expected.” He narrowed his eyes slightly and continued with an indifference that struck her as feigned. “What of young Podrick Payne, and your friend Hunt?” His voice landed oddly on the word “friend”, and Brienne remembered how poorly an impression the two had made on one another.

“Ser Hyle remained in the Vale after we rescued Lady Sansa.” She saw no reason to elaborate on that detail, or mention that she had forced him to stay behind after a last awkward attempt to woo her. It was not likely to improve Jaime’s opinion of the man, and anyway it was no business of his. “Podrick awaits me at Pennytree. I will be journeying there on the morrow.”

“If you wait a few days more, you might accompany us.” Jaime lifted the un-sealed letter before her eyes. “We will move on as well soon, most likely down the River Road in that direction, though we have not yet decided our goal. The Starks called for aid, and as we are no longer defending King’s Landing we’re in a position to give it. But there are many such calls to consider these days.”

Brienne bit back her questions on that count. The retreat of the Lannister army from the capital had been a matter of much speculation in the North. Rumors of dragons and wildfire, dark magic and ritual sacrifice had filtered out across the countryside, things she would not have credited had she not seen herself the shadow that had murdered King Renly. The Sept at Baelor had burned somehow, that much was certain, and King Tommen was dead, the Queen’s wicked Hand and his abominations had been turned out, and Aegon Targaryen had taken the throne. What had become of the Lannisters, and why their army had marched intact into the Riverlands rather than confront the Targaryens, was an utter mystery.

She herself had spent no small amount of time imagining what could have happened in the time since Jaime Lannister had left her on the Quiet Isle. But of course the Lord Commander of the Lannister army owed her no explanations, and she would not ask for them.

Perhaps her expression betrayed her, for Jaime cut into her thoughts with a knowing tone. “We have much to catch up on, Brienne of Tarth. But I must make one last circuit around the camp before dusk. Walk with me?”

 

* * *

 

 

So she did. They walked together through the rows of tents, Jaime in his long black gambeson, Brienne in her full armor. Even more wondering eyes followed her now that she walked at his shoulder, but in his presence she did not mind so much being stared at, and even felt a kind of pride.

They circled the army at a short distance, sometimes dipping down into corners of the encampment where Jaime would have quick exchanges with his men. He kept her at his side then, and any strange looks were quickly dispelled by his calm insistence on her presence. He even involved her in a conversation about shield-smithery at the quartermaster’s area, at which she was too surprised to much contribute.

“They have to see their commander there,” he told her as they walked a little way up the hills surrounding the camp. “Even when you’re of little use. I may not stock the supplies with them or train with them, but they need to see me now and again as they do it. Then they won’t mind so much later when I must ask them to do more.”

Brienne nodded, thinking Renly had not greeted the blacksmith as he repaired their arms nor called the fletchers by name. An uncommonly disloyal sentiment for her, but one she was more comfortable with than she might have been all those months ago. It was much stranger to think of Renly with Jaime at her side. They were so different, and yet her mind would set them against each other, even here. She tried to imagine the two of them in the same room – it must have happened at King’s Landing more than once. The scene made her quite nervous to consider for reasons she did not quite understand.

They conversed rather idly on matters of war and battle, saving, she sensed, the more serious matters for when they returned to the tent. If she was not mistaken he was lingering here with her longer than was strictly necessary, walking rather slowly and looking lingeringly on her when she gave her terse replies to his comments about battle formations. Though her company could not have been much to offer, there were reasons to delay. The afternoon was quite pleasant, the air crisp and clear and not nearly so frigid as in recent days, a violet winter sunset beginning just over Jaime’s shoulder. With the constant noise of camp at a comfortable distance, a peaceful quiet fell over them both.

Falling into step next to him reminded her of the last leg of their journey to King’s Landing. The same comfortable quiet, the same unconscious rhythm of journeying together without having to ask or answer their next moves. The same strange melancholy, which she now knew as reluctance to reach their destination. When they arrived everything would be different.

She was not eager to return to the Commander’s tent.

At a particularly steep segment of their path he offered a hand to her, and she took it without hesitation. Only then, at the warmth of his hand around hers and the sudden pull in her chest, did she remember that she did not accept such help, and should be affronted by the implication that she needed it, and worried that her blush would be visible even in the rapidly dimming afternoon. For all that Jaime seemed not to notice her discomfiture, and all too quickly, when she pulled up and over an awkward footing, he let go of her again.

“So tell me,” he said suddenly, cocking an eyebrow arrogantly in a manner seemingly calculated to best annoy her, “what brings you riding into my camp? Do you want something of me?”

“No,” she said quickly, falling back into step beside him, and sounding more defensive than she meant.

“I didn’t think you made social calls, Lady Brienne.”

She glared at his teasing tone. “I came for a purpose, yes. A few, actually.”

“Here it comes,” he told the empty air around them. “If you want a knighthood, I’m afraid I’m not in that business anymore. If anyone is.”

Brienne never quite understood how he could so quickly get her back up – one moment things would be quite peacable, and then the next… she ground her teeth a little. “I do not seek anything for myself, Ser. And anyway one of my aims you must know already. You have the call for aid from the North.”

“Aye.” He looked idly curious. “Though reports from the North are all a muddle, and I’m honestly not sure what to make of them. You have been there, tell me: what army troubles the northern kingdom? They speak of enemies from beyond the wall, and then of armistice with wildlings. Surely they cannot be mobilizing against folktales and shadows?”

“It’s more than tales, I’m afraid.” Brienne frowned, thinking of what she had seen and heard. “Others. Dead things. Creatures of ice.”

Jaime shook his head. “It sounds like Northern superstition.”

“You of all people in the South know there is dark magic at work.” She could not help but shudder at the thought, and finished it reluctantly.  “We both have seen the dead rise.”

He stopped short, and Brienne immediately regretted having conjured that particular memory. She knew without doubt the vision it called into both of their minds, of the risen shade of Catelyn Stark and the awful trial they had faced at her hands. A vision she still had yet to banish from her dreams.

As well, it would call to mind how she had betrayed him to the Brotherhood without Banners. Though she hoped she had made it up to him after, and he did not seem angry, she did not like to remind him of that.

Jaime faced into the sunset, looking out over his camp. “I have not forgotten,” he murmured finally. “And I’ve seen more than that, since.”

He did not elaborate, and Brienne did not press him. She just stood at his shoulder and watched, quietly, as his gaze grew faraway and his expression clouded.

The sudden change in mood troubled her, even moreso that she had caused it. Surely she could have waited to bring up such dark subjects and not spoiled their walk together. Now he seemed lost in thought, and Brienne wondered if she might be distracting him from more important matters. 

She could not help but take the opportunity to watch him. All along she had been resisting the urge to look long at him, focusing instead on their surroundings, other people around them, her own feet. She gave him only sidelong glances, quick glimpses. But she _wanted_ to look at him constantly, and anytime she did not stop herself her eyes would be seeking his face. His ridiculous handsome face which would surely have made a jest if ever he had noticed her looking.

That was no different from _before_ , though. What was new was catching _him_ looking up at her. Ever since she had first drawn his attention that day, there had been a strange intensity in his gaze, and a certain searching expression she had never seen from him before. It confused her, made her nervous. It made her wonder if her mutilated face, though much healed, was even more hideous than she had imagined, to draw his gaze so. She had avoided his eyes, at any rate, as they walked.

There had been so many eyes on her since she had left Tarth. At first it had made her want to crawl out of her skin, and then she had grown used to it. Let them stare, let everyone stare. Jaime staring was different. It made her want to run away, and yet she didn't want him to stop. Both at once, a most confusing sensation.

Brienne studied him now, with his attention safely elsewhere. There was more silver in his beard than she remembered. The pale winter sunset gave him a pallor she had not noticed before, and drew dark shadows under his eyes. He looked tired, subdued, unlike himself. It worried her.

_What happened to you in King’s Landing, Jaime?_

Almost in response he spoke up, startling her. “I don’t disbelieve them, exactly. A Stark would not call for aid from the South unless the situation was truly dire. I merely wanted to hear your opinion.” Here a smile tugged at his lips. “If Brienne of Tarth says there is an army of ice, there surely must be. You haven’t the imagination to make up such things.”

Relief rippled through her at the sight. That, and an odd sort of pride that made her cheeks flush hotly. She knew he was teasing her with this last, and yet, she thought he meant it too. Perhaps he did want to hear her thoughts on the matter. She could not be sure, it was strange to her. Her opinion had never mattered to anyone before. Maybe this was what that felt like.

“I have not seen the army of the dead,” she told him in measured tones, wanting to be as precise and honest as she could, “but I have seen its result. There is something terrible coming, and the wall will not hold it. Already at Eastwatch there is a breach.”

Jaime nodded at the horizon to his right. “Nearly two weeks ago? When the ground shook and the dust clouds formed? We’ve had little news since leaving the capital, but _that_ has been difficult to ignore.”

Brienne grimaced at the darkened horizon to the North. It was far less ominous this far south but even here the shadows in the distance drew the eye and conjured dark rumors of The Long Night. When she had ridden out from Winterfell, the ominous clouds had taken up a quarter of the sky, and looked like the end of the world.

“How bad is it?”

“A small incursion, but it is enough. The creatures pour through at a constant stream, without break, without apparent need for food or sleep. The wildling forces have tried to close the breach, but they cannot get close enough. More and more men are sent, and they do not return.”

“And Jon Snow wishes to throw my men at them, to plug the hole.” He did not sound impressed with this plan. “If they are indeed an army of the dead, won’t we just be donating them more soldiers?”

“I think,” Brienne said archly, “Lord Snow is open to suggestions.”

Jaime laughed. “I don’t think he wants them from a Lannister. But who knows? Winter makes strange bedfellows, don’t they say? It sounds like something they would say.”

“Then you will go?”

“I will recommend it to my bannermen, if they will follow. It’s true that the Lannister army has never marched North, but things are much changed. We will have to do many things that have never been done before, now.”

“And the King?” she raised hesitantly. The status of the Lannisters with the Iron Throne was not at all clear to her. She did not know if Jaime had bent the knee in order to survive. It seemed a rude question to ask.

“Fuck the King.” He swore crisply, without feeling, which clarified nothing.

“After he permitted your departure from King’s Landing—“

“King Aegon,” Jaime pronounced the title with more than a little sarcasm, “permitted nothing. We abandoned King’s Landing before his arrival.”

Her jaw worked soundlessly for a moment. “Abandoned?”

“Surrendered, retreated, call it what you like. My forces left him the city rather than face a siege, and left my sister to the Black Cells.”

Her thoughts scattered. Jaime had abandoned Cersei? But why? She had always assumed he had smuggled his twin out of the city. “I am certain you had no choice…” she stammered.

“Oh, I had a choice. I always have a choice. And always I must live with it, after.” He gave her a sidelong look that she could not interpret. “You disapprove, I imagine.”

“You imagine. I don’t know enough to think anything.” But her mind whirled. If they had fled before Aegon’s arrival, then Jaime was beholden to no one, but also an enemy to all. He held the Riverlands, but unhappily, from what she had seen in the towns and villages she had passed through to reach him. No wonder he would consider joining the battle in the North. He had nowhere else to go. But why would he give up King’s Landing in the first place?

“We should return,” he said abruptly, perhaps to forestall any more uncomfortable questions.

“I must ask you something first,” Brienne said tentatively, and steeled herself. “About what happened when you left me at the Quiet Isle.”

“I left you?” His tone turned hard, and for the first time Jaime looked angry. “Is that what you remember? That I abandoned you?”

“I don’t remember any of it, actually,” she put in quickly. “I’m told I collapsed in the road. But the last thing I recall is speaking to you that morning.”

Jaime cut in sharply. “We argued.”

“We disagreed,” she settled on. “And then I was riding, and then I awoke in the monastery on the Quiet Isle some time later. Very little in between is clear to me. I was fevered, out of my head. They kept me abed for a long time, weeks. Even longer than that resting to regain my strength. Only when I was well again did they explain. The Elder Brother – he told me that he had forbidden you to stay on the Isle. He would not say why. He only said that if I would insist on continuing with my quest and it eventually brought me back to you, that I should ask you why. He said I should ask you what you said, when they would not allow you to come in.”

Elder Brother had been remarkably cryptic about this matter, enough to raise her curiosity to unbearable levels. At the same time he had been strangely resigned about it, certain that his admonishments to forget her oaths would have as little effect as his entreaties to return to her home isle and leave the war behind her.

She had wondered all along what it might be. Something terrible? Had he said something to offend the brothers, Elder Brother in particular? Something disparaging of the Isle? Of her? Deep down she knew Jaime could not have been sorry to leave her at the Quiet Isle. After what she had put him through she would have no right to expect him to wait for her convalescence, and she knew he wanted to return to his sister. It was probably most convenient for everyone that she had collapsed and solved the problem of what to do with her.

She assumed that the reason he struggled for an answer. Jaime looked at her for a long time, framed in the violet sunset, perhaps remembering harsh words. Then he shook his head slightly and started walking in the direction of the camp. “I’m sure I said a lot of things, many of them rude. I was angry.”

“Ser?” Brienne followed him tentatively.

“As to why…” He glanced back at her, then gestured vaguely. “At the time I would have said something quite different and rather disparaging of their virtue and their mothers and so on. I would have called it  jealousy, house enmity, that sort of thing. Or Aerys again. It always comes back to that. Reputation is a strange thing, my lady. One accumulates it like barnacles on a boat, quite without intent or notice, and with no way to clean it off. People look at you and it’s all they see, it’s all you are. I spent a great deal of energy on the unfairness of it all but I’ve come to realize some things. Did you know you have a reputation of your own?” Jaime looked back at her with an insolent grin, taking clear pleasure in this change of topic.

“I can imagine,” she said crossly, and picked up her pace to keep up with him. _Brienne the Beauty. Brienne the Beast._

“I don’t think you can. The Blue Knight, they’re calling you. The bravest of warriors, wandering the King's Road in the shadow of this endless war. Amusingly they tend to leave out that the Blue Knight is a maid, but I recognized you just the same. You’re doing great deeds. Putting an end to the Brotherhood without Banners, rescuing children and maidens from evildoers. Pulling kittens from trees. That sort of thing.”

Brienne scoffed, certain he was making it up. “But you were there when the Brotherhood was dispersed, as responsible for it as I.”

“I’ll dispute that, but you’re getting the general point. You’re the Blue Knight and I’m still the Kingslayer, no matter what I do. Why should that be?” He shrugged extravagantly. “But then there are the facts. For my affair with Cersei King Robert was killed, King Joffrey was assassinated for being an illegitimate heir, I abandoned Tommen and he died for it, I abandoned my sister and she was deposed, will probably be executed. I’ve slain more kings than anyone in history by now. My reputation knew the truth of me before I did. And yours? Will only grow in stature, I am certain of it. Because you are a good person, and I am not.”

Brienne gaped at him. She could easily recall a time when such a sentiment would have been simply true, in her eyes at least. She could remember being certain of her honor and what was right, and that Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, was emblematic of everything that was not. Since then she had grown a lot less sure of both.

“You are a knight, Ser Jaime,” she said firmly, once she had recovered from her momentary shock. “There is honor in you, I have seen it.”

“You are kinder than you know,” he replied. “But even you do not delude yourself enough to think me a righteous man.”

“Of late I am grown tired of righteous men,” she confided, a little uncertainly. “The righteous and unrighteous both keep driving us to war, and the casualties are just as dead.”

Jaime seemed a little surprised at that comment. He slowed, looking at her with some concern. “That sounds not at all like you, Brienne.” 

She chewed her lip, looking carefully down at the path below her feet and feeling his eyes on her. Once she had known exactly what was she was. Now she wasn’t sure anymore what was like her, and what was not. So much had happened.

“You will find me more changed than you know,” she told him quietly. “I am less naïve than I was, and less certain. I, too, have broken oaths when it was necessary. Perhaps I have grown more like you.”

“I sincerely hope not,” he said darkly. “That’s what the brothers of the Isle feared, and your good luck that they did. Had I stayed your quest might have gone un-fulfilled along with all the good you have done.”

“Or you could have come along with me, and done that same good,” she suggested. “I would have welcomed your help. I mean…” she trailed off, realizing what she must sound like. “Had you not more important duties to attend, of course.”

He snorted at that. “Not so important as you might think. It would have been just as well if I didn’t return, for all the good it did us. For all the good it did my King.”

“I was sorry to hear of what happened to Tommen,” she told him quietly. “He seemed a sweet boy.”

Jaime stared hard at her and she was immediately sorry she had mentioned Cersei’s ill-fated son. Then he put on an awful smile.

“What happened to Tommen… which version did you hear? The terrible lie, or the worse truth?”

She couldn’t be sure which was which, and was nervous to guess. There were many stories of what became of the boy king. She bit her lip and chose one. “I heard he burned at the Sept. That the Queen –“

“That would be the lie.” He dismissed the tale with grim humor and resumed walking, fast enough she had to rush to keep up. “My sister burnt the Sept, that much is true. But Tommen did not perish there. He threw himself from the King’s Tower when he learned what she was about to do, and knew that neither he nor his father could stop her.”

Brienne had no idea what to say to that.

“There’s the comedy of it all. You know that I once pushed the Stark boy from a window when he caught us at it, back at Winterfell. I had no grudge against the boy. I did it so that Cersei and the children would live. But Cersei wound up in the Black Cells anyway, just as I meant to prevent. Our children are all dead. Seven hells, one of them even jumped out a window.”

Jaime laughed, strangely. There was a lightly hysterical edge to it that made her stomach twist.

“The Gods laugh at us, Brienne. In a split second I chose my family over another mother’s child and ultimately it didn’t matter. I might have saved us all the time and not have bothered. If we’d let it all come out then, and let the King do as he would, could it have been any worse than what we’ve come to now? Was there ever any way to save them? Perhaps if I’d thrown myself from the tower instead they would all be alive and well now. Cersei could have claimed I forced her, perhaps Robert would not have looked too closely at the implications. She could be clever with him when she needed to be…”

Jaime went on talking but Brienne stopped in her tracks, horrified at the thought. It had always disquieted her, the cavalier way he could say such morose things, but the last chilled her to the marrow. Much as what he had done troubled her deeply, if he had jumped from the tower at Winterfell, she could not help thinking, she would never have met him at all.

Jaime slowed to a stop before her, sighing. He looked back at her expectantly, though what he expected of her she could not imagine. She must have looked horror-struck. “Come now, surely you don’t think suicide a greater sin than attempting to murder an 8-year-old.”

“Perhaps not, but… I’m glad you didn’t,” Brienne said softly. Had she been a better, more thoughtful person, she could have thought of a better answer. But as usual, she could only offer the strange, slightly shameful truth.

Jaime for his part, did not seem reassured exactly, but he did seem changed. She wasn’t quite sure how. He walked beside her the rest of the way around the camp without another word.


	2. The Red Tent

Lord Lannister led the way back to the heart of the camp in a contemplative quiet, Brienne close behind.  Twilight chilled the air around them, and it seemed their comfortable interlude had ended. There was no mistaking now, with night falling, that winter had come. She could feel the thick cloud cover rolling in around them and wondered if the real snows would soon arrive in the Riverlands.

Brienne watched him, watched how the men looked up as they passed, how they were drawn to him. Watched how he walked, straight and tall, without hesitation, arrogant, without swagger. She took in his black leathers perfectly fitted to him, his golden hair spilling carelessly over his collar, golden hand heavy at his side. She took in every detail. She knew she would want to remember this later, on her own.

She also noticed the tension around his eyes whenever he looked back at her, saw that he was troubled still. Ever since he had spoken of Tommen, and whatever had happened in King's Landing, there was an agitation about him that pained her to look on.

Jaime brushed past his guards into the Commander’s tent without ceremony. Brienne noted the quizzical look on the young soldier’s faces. She suspected their Commander would greet them by name most of the time. They must be wondering what she had done to disquiet him so.

 _Only reminded him of horrors._ And hadn’t their time together been nothing but horrors, in the main? In their first journey he had been made to wear his own rotting hand around his neck, and in the second, the corpse of her sworn Lady had put him on trial with the ghoulish brotherhood baying for his blood. Both ordeals she had put him through. And now here she had intruded on him without warning to ask yet again for his help, questioned his actions, and thoughtlessly asked him of his dead son.

 _There is only sorrow between us. I should not have come,_ she thought, as she raised the tent flap and let herself in. _I could have left him a message at Riverrun and stayed away. But I knew that, didn’t I? And came anyway._

Inside, she walked right into Jaime. He was waiting there for her just inside, and put up his arms to catch her at the shoulder. For a moment they just looked at each other, her wide-eyed, him weary. His hands holding her in place, one flesh and one gold.

She started to speak, but he broke in first.

“Will you travel with us?” He sounded quite sincere, much to her surprise. “If we do go North it will be some time before we can leave the Riverlands, to muster troops and set garrisons behind us. But we can send for young Podrick, and the both of you would have a place here as my guests. The journey to Winterfell would surely be safer this way.”

“But much slower.” Brienne shook her head slowly. It was not part of her plan. She had not meant to pass this much time here as it was. “No, the Starks await me and I will travel faster riding alone. I only asked leave for a brief journey, and I am expected to return soon.”

He looked sorry for it. She could not imagine why. Surely she would only be in the way here.

“Will you stay the night at least?” he asked her quietly. “We have a berth for you, and the stablehands will take good care of your palfrey until you set out on the morrow….”

It was so difficult to remember why she could not possibly stay, with his hands on her shoulders like this. Looking directly into his face, she wanted only to agree with everything he said. But her conscience said to resist, the way it always did. Not to overstay her welcome, it being so rare.

“Thank you most kindly, but no. I left Pod with only a few days funding at an inn, and I must return to him. I will not impose on you any more than I have already.”

“You haven’t,” he insisted.

“I did not come to stay. I only wanted to speak with you, to inform you that my quest was complete. And to give you this.”

Jaime withdrew his hands as Brienne fumbled a moment with the belt around her waist, freeing Oathkeeper’s ornate scabbard. “I would return you your horse as well, and the other things you gave to me, but those gifts are scattered across the Riverlands now. This will have to suffice.”

She couldn’t quite meet his expression as she held the scabbard out to him. Brienne felt a real pang of loss handing over the sword. It had meant so much to her to carry it, and she would never see its like again.

But as Ser Jaime slowly lifted it from her grasp, her sorrow was overwhelmed by satisfaction. His flesh-and-blood hand around the pommel and the golden hand supporting the scabbard both looked as though born to it, so naturally he handled the blade. The sword had been made for him, after all. A golden sword for the golden Lannister. Yes, it was right he should have it. The honor should be his, and she had returned it to him as she promised. Now her quest was truly complete.

This satisfaction was short-lived.

“And you will be quit of me, then,” Jaime said.

She looked up stuttering, confused at his bitter tone. “Not – our arrangement will be concluded, yes.”

He held the scabbard between them, the golden lions on Oathkeeper’s pommel gleaming in the torchlight. “You will be better off in the North without a Lannister sword, I’m sure. It must have been inconvenient for you.”

“No, it was – it was wonderful,” she tried to explain. “But it isn’t mine. You gave it to me for a purpose, and I have fulfilled that purpose. Now I return it to you.”

“I thank you then.” He did not sound grateful. He sounded almost angry. “You fulfilled all of your oaths admirably, as you promised. You restored my honor in the North and completed the quest I could not. And now you are free.”

Brienne bit her lip. She had done something wrongly, but she could not think what. “Ser Jaime, I—“

The words died in her throat when he turned away from her. Jaime walked around the commander’s table and set Oathkeeper in its scabbard on his desk with a solid, hard thump and set about removing his overcoat. His left hand made short work of the buttons but he had to ease the sleeve carefully over his golden hand so that it would not get stuck.

Her throat tightened. It was most important that he understand. “I was very proud to bear your sword,” she said boldly. “Your sword, and your letter, and all the things you gave me. I will be proud of that until the day I die.”

He froze in place, holding his coat in front of him with a grip so firm his knuckles would be white. She had only a glimpse of Jaime’s face then, and thought she saw there an expression of indescribable sorrow. But he lowered his head quickly and set his mouth in a firm, hard line. He looked much like his father when he did that. Then he resumed draping his coat over the chair and adjusted his gambeson stiffly.

“Thank you, Lady Brienne,” he said, formally and without feeling.

Without looking at her, he turned the sword on his desk until the pommel spun into his good hand. He seemed to be examining it – for damage? Flaws? Brienne did not know. He needn’t have worried, anyway. She had taken better care of Oathkeeper than she had herself. Kept it away from prying eyes, cleaned it obsessively, and unsheathed it only rarely. She would have told him so, but felt he did not want her to speak anymore. He didn’t even want to look at her anymore.

She realized suddenly she was being dismissed.

For a moment, she was angry. Her hands balled into fists and she wanted to shout at him, demand his attention, demand gratitude, tell him all of the terrible things she had gone through on his quest. Tell him about the Inn at the Crossroads and Nimble Dick and Lord Tarly and how her sword arm still pained her and her face still burned where she had been bitten, and she still had nightmares nearly every night full of the faces of dead men she had slain and of Biter and Lady Stoneheart and hanging until she awoke gasping for air.

But it was not his fault, was it? It was her quest, given her by Lady Catelyn, not him. She had sworn him no oath, and she had not suffered these trials for him.

She exhaled, and unclenched her hands. There was no use being angry. He owed her nothing, after all, and now she owed him nothing in return. There was nothing between them now, with the blade returned, and her quest complete.

“I will be on my way then,” she said stiffly.

Jaime nodded curtly, not quite raising his eyes to her face.

She watched him a moment longer, hoping for something more. But there was nothing.

Brienne turned to go, telling herself to hold her head high. There was no reason for her to be so crestfallen, when she had accomplished everything she meant to.

But she only managed a few steps. They felt horrible, those steps. And she was not even out of the tent before that pulling sensation in her chest stopped her in her tracks.

 _Not like this_ , she thought. _If we should never see one another again,_ _I would not have the last words I say to him cold ones. After all he has done for me, I owe him better than that._

“Jaime?” Brienne turned back, heart thumping loudly in her chest. “I am happy that I could complete my obligation to you, and most grateful for your help. But…” she felt quite breathless here, as she grasped for the right words. She took a step closer. “Though the quest is concluded and there’s no reason for you to need my service I just want to say that… If ever we should meet again, in the North perhaps, I hope that… I hope that I could be your friend.”

She felt like sinking into the floor saying such a silly thing, but it was all that she could offer.

He finally looked at her then, with a kind of fascination. For the second time today she had surprised him, first by arriving and then by not leaving. A slow smile settled again on his face and looked more at home there than it had before. It looked a lot like the gratitude she had not asked him for.

“My friend,” he said. “Is that what we are?”

She realized that Jaime was laughing. At her. Or maybe not at her, but at some private joke she had intruded on.

“I’m sorry,” he said, a little breathlessly. “You just... you have no idea, do you? And I can’t make you out either. You speak to me like a stranger and then you’ll say something like _that_. I don’t know if you’re just that good and kind, or if it could be anything more…” He rubbed at his beard with his good hand, chuckling quietly. “Is this the way of it? How do people do this, this is _awful_.”

Brienne took a step back, apprehensive. She didn’t know if she had said the wrong thing or exactly the right one.

It seemed the more bewildered she became, the more amused he was.  Jaime shook his head wonderingly and came around from behind his desk. “You know I was going to let you go? Without saying a single word to stop you, and with no cause to ever cross our paths again. Fool that I am, fool and coward. You were always the braver of us two, Brienne.”

“I don’t understand,” she confessed. “Have I said something wrong?”  

He lifted the sword in its scabbard delicately, with real reverence, and brought it to her. She had noticed it before, the way he handled Oathkeeper as though it were both very precious and very breakable. Jaime held the sword out to her and raised his eyes to hers, quite serious now. “I cannot accept this. It’s yours. It will always be yours.”

She stepped back again, anguished. “I couldn’t. That was –“

“A gift.” He looked fierce for a moment. “My gift to you. If you would spurn it, then discard it as you will – give it to another, throw it into the sea. But do not ask me to take it back.” Clumsily he urged the scabbard into her hands, his golden hand cold against her flesh and the flesh one warm.

Distracted by their hands clasped together over the sword, she stumbled over the words she needed. “It- it would be my honor…”

“No, it’s mine. Didn’t I say that before?”

“Jaime,” she said, and stopped. She didn’t know what to say. By all the gods, what she would give just to know the right thing to say for once in her life.

“I’m so tired of this,” he cut in. “Letting you go. I’ve done it often enough it ought to be getting easier, but instead it is more and more difficult every time. I’m sick of it. I want you to stay, Brienne. Stay for good.”

Brienne fought off a mad urge to whoop with joy. _He wants me to stay._ But quickly her cautious nature stepped in and stamped out her excitement. _No, no, it means nothing. Be sensible._

“To stay…” her brows knitted together to complete the thought. “In your camp? As your sword?”

“Yes,” he said quickly, and then stopped himself. He shook his head slowly. “No, not that, not exactly.  I’m sick of lies and dissembling. It’s cowardly, and to be worthy of you I would be brave. I would have you as my lady, not my sword. Both, really, but the first most of all.”

“As your…” she trailed off again, her heart sinking.

Jaime leaned close to her, so close she could see flecks of gold in his pretty green eyes. His fingers tightened around her arm and his lips parted as though to speak, but for once, he did not. Instead he touched his lips to hers, sweet and feather-light and so brief that by the time she had realized it was happening, it was already over.

He looked rather chuffed about it after, smirking at her as he withdrew, and she would have been annoyed with him had she not been so utterly astonished.

“Why?” she just managed to say.

“Why? Why?!” Jaime managed to sound both exasperated and fond. “Why do men do anything? Why do the knights fall in impossible quests before the fair maidens? Why did Robert and Rhaegar duel at the trident? Because we’re all idiots, mad helpless idiots. I thought it would be blazingly obvious from the moment you arrived, Brienne. I’m in love with you.”

“What?” she said sharply. Thoughts of Hyle Hunt, of the bet, of every laughing face that had ever taunted her crowded into her mind’s eye. _Oh no, not him too. Not this._

“You heard me,” he smiled back at her.

Brienne looked stricken. “That isn’t funny.”

“It isn’t,” Jaime agreed. “It’s damned inconvenient. Do you have any idea how exhausting it is to know you? To wonder where you are all the time, whether you are even alive? Despite all your skill, to know that you’ll only fling yourself at danger again and again until something successfully kills you? The thought of it has been driving me mad. Once I’d seen you hurt badly it was all I could think of. I don’t think I’ve slept a whole night through since I left you on the Quiet Isle. That was when I realized what the problem was, why nothing has been right for me since I returned to King’s Landing from my captivity. I missed you. I have been missing you all along.”

Brienne’s eyes dropped to the floor and could not rise again. Suddenly she wished urgently to be very far away, anywhere but here. “Jaime,” she tried to interrupt.

He raised his voice above hers easily. “Your Elder Brother told you to ask me, so here it is: I told the Brothers I couldn’t be parted from you, I never wanted to be away from you again. I told them I loved you. It didn’t work, obviously – they wouldn’t let me on the Isle. But that wasn’t why I said it. I said it because it was true and I never knew it until that moment. It’s still true now. I love you.”

“That cannot be, Ser,” she forced out, her throat thick with pain. “You are making fun of me.”

“I am not.” His tone was gentle, suddenly, but still could not bear to look at him, or anywhere else but the floor. She saw his thick fine boots step closer. “I assure you the joke is on me. You appear out of nowhere and suddenly I am as nervous as a squire. I was sure you would see it on my face, or that I would blurt it out at any moment, and then you would… I don’t know, slap me, shout at me? Draw your sword? I must not be doing too badly, if you’ve not tried to stab me yet.” 

Brienne closed her eyes and held tightly to Oathkeeper’s scabbard and willed herself not to cry. Her face burned with shame.

“I do not know what game you play here, but I will not be fooled by honeyed words. I am not so foolish as that. I know I am nothing to look upon.”

With her eyes squeezed shut his voice seemed to float into her head, like a dream. “I like to look on you,” she heard him say.

“Stop it. Just… stop.” The stone in her throat had become a boulder, a mountain. She could hardly breathe around it. She wanted to get away from here. She wanted lightning to strike her down on the spot. She wanted him to take her in his arms and kiss her again and she hated herself for it. With a shaky breath, Brienne tried to calm herself enough to continue, shaking her head slowly from side to side. “I can take your taunts and your japes, Ser, your bawdy songs and insults, but not this. Do not taunt me with what I can never have. I gave up on such foolishness long ago, though it took far too long and far too many heartaches to learn that lesson.”

She steeled herself and opened her eyes. His green eyes stared directly into her scarred face with an ease she found infuriating. A flash of anger came to her and she clutched onto it like a lifeline.

“I return your honor to you and you throw it back in my face with lies. You are a cruel, wicked man.”

Jaime sucked in a sharp breath. Now he too looked angry, or was it hurt? She could not read him, she never could. “I confess my love to you and you call it a jest? When you only just finished calling me a man of honor? My honor is thin indeed then, or you cannot have meant it, Lady Brienne.”

Brienne bristled, her whole body thrumming with the tension of a whip about to crack. If she must face the truth of her life without flinching, so should everyone else. “You know perfectly well I am no lady. Let us be honest with each other at the very least.”

“But my honesty is worth so little to you,” Jaime said wryly, with a false smile. He sounded like his old self then, not the arrogant golden Lannister but the wreck in the Riverlands, defeated and bitter. But then he gripped her shoulders and the smile died from his face, and he looked like a different man entirely, someone Brienne did not know. “You’re the only person who ever wanted the truth from me, the only one anyway who I’ve wanted to give it to. The truth is that I have loved you for so long I can’t remember how or why or when it started. I can’t explain it. I only know I do.”

“You can’t.” She wanted to stay angry. If she was angry, her voice would not crack and waver like a stupid young girl. She tried to lace her words with venom, but they broke just the same. “What would you love? My good looks? My charming personality? I know what I am, I’m not blind or stupid. I am an ugly, lumbering beast of a woman. I am a joke and a spectacle to point and laugh at.”

His hands on her shoulders tightened. “You are Brienne of Tarth. You are the bravest knight in the Seven Kingdoms and the best person I’ve ever known. How could I not love you?”

Hot tears slid down her cheeks despite her attempts to blink them back. She hated crying. She always had. But she could only stand there stiff with humiliation and bite her lip to keep from sobbing.

“Don’t cry,” he told her firmly. “I don’t want to start a habit of making maidens cry. I know nothing but terrible things have happened to you since we met, and it’s not likely to improve, I’m afraid. There are only darker times ahead. But listen, Brienne, I ask nothing from you – not for Oathkeeper and not for my love. It is a gift, for you to do as you please with. You can return to the Starks and be rid of me. Or, if you wished to, you could join me here. As a soldier, as a friend, or as my lady. We can pretend this never happened, if you prefer. Only for gods’ sake be honest with me, the truth will hurt less than a lie no matter how kindly meant. What do _you_ want? What do you feel for me, if anything at all?”

His good hand cupped her face, lightly, as he brushed the tears from her cheek. Gently, with his thumb, more gently than her tears had ever rated.

Only that small touch was enough to undo her completely.

With an audible sob she jumped back from him, upsetting a nearby table and rattling its contents to the ground. Oathkeeper slipped from her fingers and slapped to the floor. The sound itself tore at her jangled nerves painfully. After everything it was more than she could bear. She turned away from Jaime Lannister and his beseeching expression and fled the red tent, leaving Oathkeeper lying on the ground at his feet.


	3. Night

Brienne’s vision swam as she escaped the Lannister camp, and by the time she crested the hilltop overlooking their position her face was wet with tears. She collapsed on the opposite bank and sobbed into her hands, her whole body shaking.

She could not have said why she was crying, precisely, only that it hurt so badly she could not stand it. Brienne the Beauty had taken so many small wounds over the years and not allowed herself to feel them, and now every one welled up and bled out in a wave of sheer pain. Every cruelty, every rejection. All of the loneliness she had carried, the weariness of being always on her guard, to have no one that she could trust, to have no one at all.

She had carried this heavy load for so long she no longer felt its weight; it was just a part of her. For a moment, just a moment, it had been lifted. When Jaime touched her, it had felt so sweet and good that she could hardly believe it. And she had wanted, _oh, she had wanted_ something she could never have, never allow herself to dream of for a moment lest it tear her to pieces with longing that would never be fulfilled. It was impossible and it would destroy her.

Brienne sobbed with her whole body until her chest ached and her eyes burned and her hands pounded the dirt beside her to try to drive the tears out faster. It was Elder Brother all over again, only after she had made her weeping confession to him she had felt cleansed and peaceful, and these tears gave her no relief. There were more tears behind the tears and more hurt under the hurt and it was never going to stop. It could go on forever, she would be trapped here crying and crying until the army camp behind her packed up and rode away and the world moved on without her. She would weep until there was nothing left and finally she dried up and blew away like a handful of dust.

The last of daylight vanished without notice and she found herself shivering in the dark. She did not cry forever, but it felt like it. She cried until there was nothing left inside her and she was left empty and exhausted, cored like an apple. She sat in total stillness for a long while after that, thinking of nothing, or as close to nothing as she could manage. Slowly, her body released the tension it had been holding. She felt wrung out but sharply awake. The tears still covered her cheeks, and now and again she would strain against a lump of pain in her throat, but in time she could breathe more easily.

Rarely did Brienne let herself fall to pieces like this. The walls that she had so carefully maintained around herself usually shielded her from harm, or so she thought. Maybe in truth they only held her together, rather than protecting her. The damage was already done.

She leaned back on the hillside and looked up through the clouds at the stars beyond, and her tears slowly dried away. She could get up and be on her way now. Find her horse and ride. The thought prodded at her more than once, but did not stir her in the least. It sounded freeing, to ride away, but she could not get up the will to go. Her body felt heavy as lead.

She might have dozed.  Between the brief glimpses of the stars she was aware only of the chilly night air and the cold ground beneath her, and wearily she followed her scattered thoughts into memory. A hazy recollection of being held under a blanket of stars with a cloak wrapped around her. She could see the treetops parting to that starry sky and hear the river beside her. It felt peaceful there and safe, in her memory, though in reality it had been neither. In truth she had been near death, nearer than she had ever come, and consumed with pain and terror. But later, far enough from dying to look back safely, all she could remember was comfort. Jaime was there – she could not see him, but he was there, talking to her quietly. Telling her a story of Prince Rhaegar and the Trident, and rubies scattered in the river. If she listened long enough, she could almost bring back the feeling of his arms around her.

Brienne frowned into the dark. She had not meant to think on that. The memory was so faint she often thought it a dream. A sweet dream. But she still had the cloak, in the unmistakable Lannister colors. It was folded up neatly in her pack. On the Quiet Isle she had slept beneath it for weeks, fevered and half-dead, and would refuse to give it up to her caretakers despite not realizing what it was until much later. She only knew that Jaime had left it, and she could not bear to let it go.

Brienne hadn’t known how to bring it up to him – how she had come to wear his cloak. If she had, he might have remembered something quite different, and dispelled her sweet dream for good. So she had kept it hidden in her pack and said nothing, and hoped to keep the memory secreted away in her heart. And now she knew…

…what? What did she know, after all? That Jaime Lannister was as cruel as everyone said? That he would toy with her affections just as so many others had? But why? That was what really made her mind whirl with confusion – what was the bloody _point_ of it all? His own amusement? What would he stand to gain from claiming to be in love with such a monstrous beast as she was?

There was no explaining it. As wildly confusing as the man could be this was the most confusing thing of all, that he could be so sincere about the most foolish of fancies. He had missed her? Her of all people? Her face a ruin, and he claimed he liked to look at her? If it was not a lie it was a delusion, or a truth so unlikely and odd as to be vaguely pathetic.

Which meant there was a chance, a tiny chance, that this could be real. Admitting it to herself threatened to bring fresh tears to her eyes, for what could she do about it? She knew nothing, less than nothing, of how to entice a man, or what to do with him if she had one. As a woman she had always been a failure, and if Jaime did not see that now, he surely would on closer inspection. How much worse would it be for her to have his regard and lose it, as she inevitably would? The idea of it hurt worse than any wound she had ever taken.

Brienne sat up abruptly, wrapping her arms around her bent knees and bowing her head into them. She should leave. She should go back to the North and to Podrick Payne and Sansa Stark and be the knight she had dreamed of becoming, and leave this foolishness behind. If she rested here a little longer it would be morning, and she could find her horse in the tumult of the camp and be on her way without having to face him again.

But she could not stop thinking of Jaime’s face when she left him. If she had drawn Oathkeeper and stabbed him with it, she could not imagine a different expression from when she had dropped it on the floor and run out. Gods, she could at least have explained, or tried to explain. He had already seemed lost to her, alone and sorrowful, even before when they had walked together. And when he reached out to her she had fled like a coward. She had never run from a fight in her life, but from a declaration of love she had retreated in terror. It was humiliating to think on.

Brienne wiped at her face with the heel of her hands determinedly. What a mess she must be, but there was no helping it. She could not be other than she was. If she were to go back, she would have to be stronger this time. She must not blubber and flee.

She had to go back. She could not explain exactly why, when every sensible impulse in her said to move on. Somehow she had cried out all of her reason. All she had left was the quietest part of her, the faint and uncertain whisper from the locked strongbox where she kept her heart, that said: _Go to him. Do it now._

So she did.

 

* * *

 

 

It was deep in the night when Brienne returned. This time, the soldiers let her pass without comment. Perhaps they remembered her bolting from the Lord Commander’s tent like a frightened animal, running out of the camp in tears. They may have felt sorry for her, or they already expected her return. After all, there was nowhere else to go for miles, and she had left her horse and her pack. She wondered what they knew, if they knew anything about her. What must they think? It mattered not. Only one person mattered.

Brienne made her way through the rows of tents in the faint torchlight, thinking only of Jaime. What he must think of her. Somewhere between the edge of camp and the Commander’s tent her hands set to trembling. Odd, that. She had known mortal fear on more occasions than most men, but she could honestly say she had never been more afraid.

 _I must be brave,_ she told herself.

When the guard on shift lifted the tent flap to usher her inside the Commander’s tent, she found it very much as she had left it hours ago. The Lord Commander was still sitting at his desk. She had been half-convinced Jaime would be asleep in his cot and she would have to wait until morning to speak to him, but he was awake still, with bloodshot eyes and drawn face. He looked up suddenly, and for a moment his expression was as naked as she had ever seen it. He looked to her wounded, and she saw that he held Oathkeeper tightly in his hand, the blade sitting across his lap. Somehow she knew he had been holding it like this ever since she had left it.

“Brienne?” Jaime looked stunned to see her again, and quickly rose from his seat. He kept the sword in his good hand, close at his side.

“Don’t interrupt,” she began, more sharply than she intended. “I’m sorry, I meant… I have something to say. I shouldn’t have run out like that. You asked me a question, and I owe you an answer.”

“I thought that _was_ your answer,” he said quietly.

“Shut up. No it wasn’t.” She took a deep breath and squeezed her eyes shut. She could hear him coming nearer, and she spoke up a little breathlessly. “No, stay there. I’m sorry, forgive me if I can’t quite – I can’t look at you if I’m going to say this. Stay where you are.”

Silence then. That was better. Brienne took several more deep breaths and tried to steady herself. This would be her only chance to explain. She must make him understand.

When she spoke, her voice sounded dull and flat, hateful to her own ears. But at least she was not crying. That was a start.

“I should have said,” she began slowly, “that I cannot give you what you’re asking for. I don’t think I’m capable.

“It was so much easier, Ser, when we were at odds and sparring. I can trade insults with you without trouble. That’s what I’m used to. But now I don’t know what to say. I’m not fit for courting, if I am to believe that is what you wanted. I can’t be charming or demure or any of the things a woman ought to be. I’m only me.”

She could not think clearly for all the thoughts swirling around in her head. There was so much to tell and no way to say it properly. She hung her head and just let the words fall from her lips without examining them, hoping that by pure luck they would be the right ones.

“The truth is that I don’t even know what love is. I’ve heard all the stories and the songs and as a child I thought it would happen for me one day, but it never did. Even before my face was ruined I was too ugly and oafish for courtship, and I put those things aside. I did without. It hasn’t been so bad. I am a poor excuse of a woman and would be a poor excuse for a lover. I don’t know how to do any of that. I can’t offer you pretty words or make pretty things. I don’t even know how to be a friend to you. I don’t have friends. I have always been alone. It’s what I’m used to. I don’t know how to love someone. If you thought you could show me how, I fear you are mistaken.”

From somewhere nearby, she heard him clear his throat. “What about Renly?” he asked her.

She sighed. “King Renly. Yes, I _thought_ I loved him. I admired him, and I was grateful for his kindness. I would have gladly died to protect him. But I think… if there had been any chance of his returning those feelings I would have run from him just as I did from you. And what I felt for Renly was… not like this.”

She swallowed hard. How could she possibly explain what she did not understand herself? “You are the only person in this world who ever really believed in me, didn’t just humor me but _believed_. Who listened to me, and treated me as a knight and not a joke. You cannot imagine what that means to me, Ser. More than I can ever say. That belief sustained me through awful trials, it gave me strength. And when you say – what you said – I thought it was all being snatched away. Just another joke on me, for believing I deserved to be a knight. It’s happened before. I’ve been taunted with the possibility of love and respect and it was all a lie, just for the fun of it.”

She stopped herself there. If she tried to describe every cruelty she might never stop. It didn’t matter, anyway.  “Just the same, I realized – you have never lied to me, Ser Jamie. Even when it would benefit you to do so, you have always been honest. You could be mistaken but you would not be cruel to me, not on purpose. So you must have meant what you said, as impossible as it is. When I realized that I knew I had to come back to give you my answer.”

 “The truth is I do think of the times we were together. I think on them over and over. I want to remember them perfectly, even though they were terrible. You and I in the Riverlands, in the muck and the mud, you half-starved and me a noble fool. We both nearly died a dozen times over, and yet I would live it all over to be with you again. To hear your stupid jokes and your complaining and your wretched snoring. I’ve missed it. I’ve missed you terribly, Ser.”

Her lower jaw trembled, and the carefully neutral tone slipped into something quavery and uncertain. Was she going to cry again? Gods, give her strength. She had to get through the rest of it.

“That’s why it is so cruel of you to offer me a place at your side, when there is nothing in this world I could want more. And I can’t have it. I can’t.”

“Ser, it doesn’t matter what I want, or what you want, it cannot be. I must be the Lady of Tarth someday. If I do not perish in this war I will be the Evenstar. I ran away from my responsibilities but I cannot run forever. And I cannot break the only promise I’ve kept them, my maidenhood. I will either die a maiden or marry for Tarth, and I cannot do elsewise. So you see…”

She trailed off. She wished she could bring herself to look him in the face then, but she knew if she did all her courage would flee her and she would fall silent or burst into tears. 

“How I feel doesn’t matter. You and I, it isn’t possible. I will not be a mistress or a love affair, I owe it to Tarth to be a wife or die a maiden. No one would ever take me to wife, and I am not so desperate for love to take scraps. I have been alone my whole life through and I can be alone for the rest of it. Do you see?”

Jaime interrupted her gently. He must have been approaching all along – suddenly he sounded very close. ”Look at me,” he said.

Brienne did not look right away. She stood as straight and stiff as an iron rod until he drew close enough to hear him breathe and her skin prickled at his nearness. When she opened her eyes he met them searchingly, so close to hers she could look nowhere else. She had to force herself to hold his gaze, to let him find whatever it was he was seeking there.

His own brow furrowed much as hers had been before, but his eyes were kind. She had not remembered that. If she looked long enough, she could see it.

“The brave Blue Knight,” Jaime said fondly. “I frightened you off, did I? I said too much. But you came back to me.”

Several breaths later her racing heart had calmed and she wasn’t sure what she had been so very afraid of. It was only Jaime. Smirking, infuriating, insolent Jaime Lannister who knew her more deeply than anyone alive and still looked at her like she was someone worthy. She had never had cause to be afraid of Jaime. She knew him down to his bones, as he knew her. It was only that they had been too long apart and she had forgotten it. 

Jaime seemed to sense the change in her and his own posture relaxed, the crease of his brow smoothed. “That’s better. I don’t like to see you afraid. Brienne of Tarth should fear nothing, and certainly not a one-handed old man.”

“I shouldn’t have feared,” she said softly. “And anyway you aren’t –”

“Shh.” He moved his hand up to her face, at the side of her jaw, fingertips dipping lightly into her hair. “I have never heard you say quite so much before, Brienne.”

She agreed nervously, trying not to revel too much in the feeling of his hand on her. “I think I’m quite out of words, to be honest.”

“Then help me return this to its rightful place.” He gestured to her sword belt with his golden hand. “If you run off again I won’t have you leaving it. Or will you make me chase you into the Riverlands again to give it back?”

She snorted breathlessly and helped him strap the scabbard to her side, extremely aware of the position of his arms around her waist. The familiar motions of equipping the sword to her belt served to relax her further, and she felt much more herself with a sword at her side.

Her sword. Hers for good, now. She flushed with pride at that, and touched it again lightly with the palm of her hand.

“Much better,” he said, when it was done. Lingering close, fingertips at her belt. His face tilted up to hers with more than a little of his old insouciance settling there. Whatever she had said, and she barely knew what she had said, so frightened she had been to say it, had restored Jaime to some semblance of his confident, solid self.

Though not exactly the same. There was tenderness, now, not new but newly revealed.

“Now Brienne,” he said lightly, and slipped her right hand into his left. “Did you mean to say that you would marry me if I asked? Or did I imagine it?”

“I…” She didn’t know. Had she said such a thing? She hadn’t meant to.

“There is a Septon at Pennytree, we can send for him when we bring young Podrick. There won’t be much of a ceremony, and we’ll have only soldiers for our guests, but I think that’s fitting in a way.”

Her brow knitted with confusion. What was he saying? She had meant to discourage him and do it as kindly as she could, but it seemed her words had the opposite effect.

As before, he seemed to find her confusion amusing. “I need to properly ask, do I? I’ve never made it to the betrothal before, as many times as it’s been threatened. Do you need a dowry? I have considerably less gold than promised, but more than most. But I’m getting ahead of myself: Will you?”

She blinked back uncomprehendingly. “Will I?”

“Marry me?”

It was so preposterous she wanted to laugh. “But I would be no kind of wife,” she sputtered.

“You would be _a_ kind of wife. Maybe not the usual kind. But what is usual about you and I?” He grinned triumphantly at her, and squeezed her hand.

It was all too much. She must have been getting used to absurdities, to even take such an idea seriously enough to argue him out of it. “I couldn’t keep your castle or charm your bannermen. I couldn’t sit at court and look beautiful like a proper wife, the wife you deserve…”

“You are the wife I _want_ ,” he emphasized, as though that solved everything. “Will you follow me to the end of the world and fight at my side? Would you stand before my allies and my enemies and proclaim me your lord, and you my lady? That is all I ask.” He pulled her hand to his lips and kissed her bruised knuckles reverently.

Despite herself, she softened. The fortress around her heart shivered, threatened to fall. Such words she had never even hoped to hear in her lifetime. She wanted to write them down or set them to music so she could have them always and never forget a single moment of Jaime saying them to her, with such care and such affection. It could hardly be real.

No, it couldn’t be real. She couldn’t possibly be anyone’s wife. Brienne tried to be stern with him again. “You are head of your house now. You have to marry—“

He interrupted her. “A noble woman from a good house. Which you are. As to the rest, I don’t care. There’s no one left to question my choices and I don’t have to give a damn what anyone thinks. I only care what you think. You haven’t given a proper answer. Say it straight if it’s no, and stop me making more of a fool of myself than I have already. Will you be my wife?”

She could hardly muster the breath to answer. “I… I think you have not thought this through, and I think I can hardly think straight or trust myself to answer rightly. Give me time to think.”

“There are only a few hours until morning light, Brienne. I will not let you ride away from me without an answer.”

She glared back at that idea. “As if you could stop me.”

Jaime did not pursue that bait. “If you don’t wish to marry me—“

She could scream with frustration, if it would make him _understand_ how foolish he was being. As if it _mattered_ , what she wished for. As if the gulf between what she wished for and what was _true_ were not so vast and insurmountable. It was not a matter of wishing at all.

“— you are still welcome here for as long as you like,” he finished. “It is as I said before, any way that you want to stay, so long as you stay. I will assume no answer is the same as no, and I would not ask again.”

The words lay on her tongue, ready to be said. The words _no_ , and _obviously not_ , and _I’m sorry but I cannot_. It was what she _should_ say, what she had said before many times when Ser Hyle had pressed the same proposition on her.

Somehow she could not say them. No answer was not the same as no, it wasn’t the same at all. No answer kept her in this sweet moment where there was a possibility of happiness within her reach. She could not answer him yet.

Still she softened, and found herself saying: “I will stay, if you still have a berth. But we must write my father straight away. I cannot marry without his blessing.”

Jaime grimaced at that, glancing at his desk. “I’m afraid that could take some time. I can write with my left hand, but not especially well. If we want Lord Selwyn to be able to _read_ the letter –“

She interrupted him. “I will write the letter. I have sent him so few, and he already awaits word from me. When I have his answer, I will have an answer for you.”

Of course, Brienne already knew what her father would say. The Evenstar had given up long ago at matching his brutish daughter. He wished still for her to marry, and made no secret of it. But as to who, he had left it to her to decide. He would certainly not object to his only heir marrying into one of the great houses. She would only regret raising such an unlikely possibility and leaving him in disappointment once again.

It would take some time to get a message to her father in the Stormlands, where bannermen sheltered him until it was safe to return to Tarth. More time than that to get his reply. It could be weeks. Weeks in the Lannister camp, here, with Jaime.

He seemed to be having the same realization. “The army will tarry in the Riverlands for some time to gather our forces, we can wait here for his answer. If he does not object, and if you choose to, we can marry here, and ride to the North as husband and wife. Otherwise… well, you will have time to consider your options, but I would still deliver you where you wished.“

“It will give you time as well.” She hated to speak the words, but felt she must. Jaime could be rash, impulsive, emotional. It was just like him to charge ahead after some romantic notion and consider the consequences only later. “You must think it over carefully. A moment’s impulse should not decide the rest of your life. In time you may come to regret your offer.”

But he remained firm. “I won’t. This isn’t a temporary fancy, Brienne. You have no idea how often I have thought of you in these past months.” He stopped himself and touched her face again, brushing back the hair from her cheek lightly. “An hour ago I thought I had spoilt the best thing in my life. It was more grief than I could bear.”

All at once she was overwhelmed with tenderness for him. Could he have been lonely too, here with all his soldiers, never knowing if he would find her again? What if she had never come to him, would he have gone on all alone? Like she had? It was difficult to imagine, and yet here he was.

It seemed too much even for him. He put on a typically sardonic smile and stepped back. “But I’m sure you’ve had enough of me for today, and I’ve promised you rest. Excuse me a moment, Lady Brienne.”

He called out to the guard outside, beginning a rustle of activity. After conferring with them he returned to her. “Neither of us has closed our eyes all night, and I must have a bed for you. Not mine,” Jamie emphasized, with an only mildly suggestive smIrk. “It’s nearly first light and I can just about justify kicking a squire out of bed at this hour.”

Brienne closed her eyes and took a breath as the Lord Commander disappeared from the tent, presumably waking some poor boy so she could steal his bed. It was just as well he gave her no chance to argue. She would have insisted on forgoing sleep at all, but all of the emotions of the past day had drained her of strength. If she didn’t find a bed soon she might fall asleep on her feet.

She would rest, and clear her head. Perhaps tomorrow all this would make some kind of sense, and she would know what she needed to do.

 

* * *

 

 

She was to be settled in a smaller single tent nearby. She would quite comfortably have slept in the barracks with the other soldiers, but Jaime insisted and his squire if anything insisted more loudly. The young man, Peck, rushed about eagerly to clear his things even though they had woken him from a dead sleep not long before sunrise. He sounded quite enthusiastic to do what might please Lord Lannister, and seemed not to resent her presence at all.

“The bed is not so comfortable as my Lord’s, but it will serve,” he told her before he left, clutching his small bundle and grinning. “I will be fine in the barracks for as long as you need to use it. Come and find me if you need anything more.”

She was so struck by the lad’s excitement that she did not fully register his comment about the Commander’s bed, and blush, until he was already hurrying away.

She might have been insulted by the presumption had the boy not just witnessed their lingering goodbye just outside. Jaime had walked her an amusingly short distance to her berth with a gallant air, and lingered there while Peck rummaged around inside.

“Is there something else you want, Ser?” she asked him.

“I don’t know what more I could ask of you, in addition to your hand in marriage. Perhaps a kiss goodnight?” he asked. Jokingly, but hopeful too.

For all he had looked to her heavy and tired in the past hours, just then Jaime looked boyish and full of joy. She could not help but nod.

He did not hesitate. He closed the space between them in one swift motion and reached his arms around her, pulling her flush against him, and kissed her.

For the first panicked moment Brienne worried about a thousand little things – she did not know how to kiss, whether to close her eyes, what to do with her hands – and then he was kissing her and everything else fell away.  There was only the heat of his mouth and his arms around her waist, and a warm hum of pleasure that started in her chest and emanated out to her fingertips where they settled on his face.  Even the ground beneath her feet seemed to fall away and she was floating in the pre-dawn air, with only his touch to anchor her.

When the kiss ended, an eternity later, his arms stayed around her and he confessed into her ear, “I have wanted to do that so often, almost from the first time we met.”

She frowned. “That couldn’t possibly be true.”

“Don’t start that again,” Jaime chuckled. “True, I would not have guessed at it then. I didn’t know what it was I wanted. But if we had not been interrupted at our first duel, I might have stolen a kiss. And then you would have drowned me for certain, so our good luck I didn’t figure it out sooner.”

At that she could not help but laugh. She probably would have drowned him, or at least dunked him more thoroughly, if he had tried it. She hadn’t known him then.

Now Lord Lannister had bid her good night and his squire Peck had smiled at her in a knowing sort of way that made her feel a fool, but a strangely happy one. It was all very strange. Still reeling from that passionate embrace, Brienne crawled into the tent wondering if she would awake in the morning to find it had all been a dream. This was not the sort of thing that happened to someone like her, these knowing smiles. It made her feel like someone quite unlike herself, someone who might hear a marriage proposal and tell him yes.

She was so tired that she did not bother to remove her armor; without Pod’s help it took some time to remove, and in unfamiliar surroundings she preferred to keep it on. She simply laid on her back and stared up at the canvas, and despite the stiff awkwardness of her plate she found sleep catching her quickly.

In her mind’s eye she saw the red tent as clearly as if she still stood there, clutching her own heart in her hands. She saw a violet sunset, the Lannister banners in the valley, and that strange expression Jaime had when he looked at her, when he thought she wasn’t looking back. Thoughts of King’s Landing, King Tommen, King Aegon, the Black Cells. Whatever had caused Jaime to abandon it all. The gentle kiss he had given her. Her very first. The second kiss, which was not so gentle. The shadow in the North, and Winterfell awaiting her there. The Commander’s bed, which she had not seen but knew would be close by, where at this very moment he must be resting. There was so much to contemplate that she could not focus on any one thing, and she was so exhausted that she could not chase after these notions to put them in order. The thoughts drifted through her mind like snow and settled quietly into a peaceful blankness that soon submerged her in sleep.

For the first time in a very long time, Brienne dreamt of Tarth and of the sea, with no nightmares to trouble her.


End file.
